


Sick!Wilson Drabble and Ficlet Collection

by Menolly



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick!Wilson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:45:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2531189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menolly/pseuds/Menolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are some small drabbles and ficlets written for various challenges at <a href="http://sick-wilson.livejournal.com/">Sick!Wilson Anonymous</a> on Live Journal over the years. </p><p>If you're new to House fandom and like hurt/comfort I highly recommend checking out the community on Live Journal. There are hundreds of links to fics - and <a href="http://sick-wilson.livejournal.com/413562.html"> they're all handily organised by whatever ails Wilson.</a></p><p>I'm posting these as separate chapters rather than upload a whole lot of small fiction. Ratings and content vary but they're mostly fairly light, and most feature House and Wilson friendship or House/Wilson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silent Companions

Wilson stares into the glowing camp fire, holding his marshmallow over the flames. He looks up at House and Amber who sit silently watching him.

“I can't believe it's been a whole year since the bus crash. Been a busy year. Everybody is moving on with their lives. Cuddy got married, adopted a kid.” He turns the marshmallow over, watching the flames lick at its surface, gradually turning it brown.  
 

“I miss you both so much. I look for you at the hospital all the time House, it just isn't the same there any more. It's too quiet."  
  
He turns to Amber, gazes at her, thinking again how beautiful she is.  
  
"The apartment is so empty Amber. I... I've kept everything just the way you left it. I haven't touched your things. I know you wouldn't like that.”  
 

He watches as the marshmallow slowly burns, turning black and then shrivelling up on itself until there is nothing left. He throws the stick into the fire and then watches as it too burns up.  
 

“Cuddy said I should take a break, get away from the hospital for a while. Try and find some peace. So I came out here.”  
 

He laughs but there is no humour in it.  
 

“It's funny because neither of you liked camping. You would have hated this. I can just hear you both bitching about it.”  
 

He pokes at the fire with a stick, watches the flames dance.  
 

“I haven't told anyone that I can see you both. This is just our little secret. If I tell anyone they will try and 'cure' me, make it so I can't see you anymore. I couldn't stand to lose you like that. Not again.”  
 

He stares at them both, sitting there on the other side of the fire.  
  
“I just... I just wish you would talk to me... just once.”  
 

He stops, takes a deep shuddering breath and wipes away his tears. Stares into the camp fire.  
 

“I wish I had been on the bus with you.”

  



	2. Puzzle Solving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Camp Sick!Wilson Random Challenge  
> Prompts were - air conditioning, a running shoe and Stonehenge  
> Fluff.

House stared at his friend's back. Wilson was standing on a chair, stretching his arm out towards the ancient air conditioner which hummed nosily in the corner, located above and behind the large closet.

“Cripple” he reminded Wilson, in case the other man had forgotten. “Anyway, you're the one obsessing about the air conditioner. You fix it.”

In truth House had been sleeping peacefully when he'd been awoken by Wilson's antics. Apparently the noise the old air conditioner was making was keeping Wilson awake. 

“I can't quite reach the off switch,” Wilson muttered. “I need to use something...” He got down from the chair and hunted around the floor, finally coming up with a running shoe. House's running shoe as it happened.

“Shame the remote control isn't working. You could turn if off with that.” House said from his comfortable bed.

Wilson turned around and glared at him. “Yes, it's a shame that someone took the batteries out of the remote control and used them for their stupid game machine.”

“Well, I wouldn't have had to do that if you hadn't booked us into this crummy hotel in the middle of nowhere. No cable, no porn, no pizza delivery. Nothing to do but a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Just shut up about the missing piece of the puzzle House. It's not there, you can't solve the puzzle – let it go.”

Wilson turned back to the air conditioner. Balancing on his toes on the chair he reached out with House's tennis shoe towards the on/off button. Almost there....

There was a crack, and then the leg of the chair gave away. As the chair fell Wilson fell with it, his arms and legs flailing, his head cracking against the edge of House's bed on the way down. 

He lay still for a moment, head aching, his eyes closed. He would never hear the end of this.

He opened his eyes in surprise when he felt House's hands probing at his head.

“You're not bleeding. Doesn't seem to be much of a lump.”

“I'm fine House. No damage done.”

Blue eyes peered intently into his for a moment and then House nodded. Suddenly House jerked his head to one side and stared underneath the bed. He reached his hand out and snatched something up. He cradled it to himself protectively. 

“What is it?” 

House didn't answer, lumbering to his feet and across to the desk in the corner of the room. Triumphantly he placed the last puzzle piece in the jigsaw, revealing the completed picture of Stonehenge. 

“Told you it would be here somewhere.”

Wilson shook his head.

“Glad to have helped House, it was no bother.” He painfully got to his feet and looked up in the corner. The air conditioner was silent, apparently he had managed to hit the switch just before falling off the chair.

Both men got back into bed. Lights were switched off and Wilson settled down to sleep.

“Hey Wilson!” 

Wilson groaned.

“What is it House? I need to get some sleep.”

“I'm too hot. Can you put the air conditioner back on?”


	3. Five Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson is in a serious car crash, House helps him through his recovery  
> Written for Camp Sick!Wilson Random Challenge #2  
> Five interlinked drabbles with each drabble using one set of prompts. Prompts are listed before the drabbles

(Motorcycle, blue, wave)

His eyes are heavy, sticky with something. Blinking a few times he finally opens them. Hearing a noise to his left he turns his head that way. Blue eyes stare back at him, he can see a motorcycle stopped on the road behind him. House had been following him, would have seen the crash. He moves his fingers a little, a sad parody of a wave, hoping that House will notice and understand. House reaches out to him, touching a hand to Wilson's shoulder. Wilson notices that House's hands are shaking. He tries to smile to reassure but he cannot.

\------------------------

(Head, tie , key)

The pain is crippling. Wave after wave of it, never letting him rest properly. Pain in his head, pain in his legs and through his body. The pain ties him to this bed, trapping him. He stares at the morphine machine next to his bed, longing for the key to unlock it, to up the dosage and end this agony. House stares down at him, perfect understanding in his eyes. Deft hands unlock the machine, adjust the flow. The drug runs into his veins, bringing relief from pain. House sits down by his side to watch over him. Wilson sleeps.

\--------------------------

(Pool, light)

The therapy pool is warm and welcoming. Wilson is lowered into it, his body light now, supported by the water. He looks down at his scarred and wasted body. Looks across at House, sitting in the pool with him. They are a matched pair now, he thinks, two cripples together. Tears leak out of his eyes to splash onto the surface, creating small ripples in the water. When he looks up House is looking away. Too soon it is time to struggle into the wheelchair again. House takes the handlebars and pushes, taking him back to his bed, his prison. 

\--------------------------- 

(Smoke, crouch, miss)

Learning to walk again is agony. Every step he takes drains him, leaves him shaking and exhausted. He sets goals for himself, and is furious when he misses them, when his legs won't work and he falls. He slumps on the mats at the end of the session, his head bowed. struggling to catch his breath, humiliated and defeated. House crouches down beside him, the stink of smoke from his stolen cigarette clinging to him. He hands over a couple of Vicodin, saying nothing but simply being there. Wilson whispers to House that he hurts and House nods. He knows.

\----------------------------

(Tree, bet)

Going outside is like escaping prison Wilson thinks. The fresh air is in his lungs, the sun warms his skin. He is still unsteady and unsure on his feet, his quad cane the only thing keeping him upright. House bets him that he can't make it to the trees and Wilson isn't going to let him win. When they are there they sit down on the bench and look back at the hospital. Their twin canes lean against the table. Wilson mutters a quiet thanks. House shrugs and they sit in the sun until it's time to go back in.


	4. These Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble written for the camp Sick!Wilson three things challenge - a baseball bat, a book shelf and a horror movie.  
> Warning : some violence

 

There are things that Wilson can never forget

 

                     the sight of the door crashing open, the men invading his house  
 

                     the way the baseball bats looked in their hands, the pain as they hit him  
  
                     the horror movie playing on the television, the soundtrack covering his screams  
 

                      the crawl to the bookcase for his cell phone, the blood staining the floor  
 

                      the long wait for help in the dark, the flashing lights of the ambulance

 

This thing he will always remember

 

                      waking up in hospital with House sitting by his side  
 

                       “They got them Jimmy. You're safe, it's over.”

 

 


	5. The Dangers of Paperwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson hurts himself doing his paperwork
> 
> Written for Camp Sick!Wilson Ordinary Things challenge.

  
 

House barged into Wilson's office and then stopped dead at the sight in front of him.

Wilson was seated behind his desk, blood steadily dripping down a finger and onto the paperwork spread out before him. He was fishing around in a drawer, presumably for something to stop the flow of blood.

“You're bleeding.”

“Your observational powers are amazing, no wonder you are a world acclaimed diagnostician.”

Wilson found some kleenex and wrapped a couple around his finger.

“What did you do?”

“I didn't _do_ anything House.” Wilson peered at the offending digit which was stubbornly refusing to stop bleeding.

“Your finger started bleeding all by itself?” House asked sceptically. “I'll call the minions, we have a patient but I'm sure we can fit you in. That guy is only paralysed and bleeding from his ears, nothing that can't wait.”

Wilson sighed. This wasn't going to end well.

“I cut myself.”

“Ah, that explains the copious amount of blood. It doesn't explain the fact that there are no knives or other sharp objects on your desk.”

“I cut myself on an envelope.”

House stared at him.

“It was a very sharp envelope,” Wilson explained defensively.

 

House kept staring.

“I was trying to seal it, and I ran my finger along the flap and well...”

The bleeding had stopped and now he was trying to apply a plaster clumsily with his right hand.

“Here, let me.”

House came forward and applied the plaster to the wounded finger while Wilson watched him, eyes wide in surprise.

“The great Doctor House doing first aid. I must tell Cuddy, she'll probably put you in the hospital bulletin as Doctor of the Month.”

House scowled at him.

“Can't have all those death certificates getting bloody...” House trailed off, eyes staring into space.

“Paperwork... bleeding... Argentina... new wife...”

Without another word he turned and limped off, bellowing for his minions.

Wilson sighed, apparently he had just supplied another epiphany for his friend.

“Glad to have helped House,” he muttered. “I'll be fine now.”

He picked up the envelope that had caused all the trouble. He eyed the flap warily and then reached for the scotch tape dispenser on the desk. As he pulled some tape off he caught his finger on the sharp serrated edge, slicing a neat cut across the top.

House burst into his office.

“Hey Wilson, come see this! We're going to cut this guy's ...”

House trailed off, staring at the bleeding finger and then back to Wilson.

“Seriously ?!”

Wilson could only nod.


	6. Camp Was Never Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson had a difficult time at Summer Camp this year. A cracky fic written for Camp Sick!Wilson

House looked up as his apartment door opened and Wilson staggered through. His friend looked terrible. His clothes were torn, every inch of visible skin was sunburnt where it wasn't insect bitten. There were scratches on his face, a patch over one eye. He was walking with a cane and had a cast on one foot. And his hair was a mess.

Wilson looked nervously behind him and then slammed the door shut, House thought he could hear something growling on the other side.

“House, you'll never believe the summer I've had!” Wilson collapsed onto the couch, rather close to where House was sitting.

“I thought you went _camping_?” House somehow managed to make camping sound like something perverted.

“Camping was never like this House! The weather was terrible, I got sunburnt, and windburnt, I had hypothermia one night, and a raging fever the next! There were storms...” Wilson shuddered at the memory. “Lightning hit the tree I was camped under, it fell on me.” Wilson pointed to the cast on his foot and then waved the cane around, narrowly missing hitting House.

“And the animals! God, the animals House! There were ants, bees, coyotes, bears, snakes, skunks, I even saw an alligator one night!”

“You sure it wasn't a crocodile?” House asked.

“I didn't look at it that closely House! I was too busy running from it!”

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck furiously. House always wondered why he did that. Maybe he would like House to massage it for him one day, House thought he would be able to do that.

“And after all that I sat down by the camp fire to toast some marshmallows. You'd think that would be pretty harmless, right? Not much could go wrong with toasting marshmallows.”

House nodded, transfixed.

“No, I poked myself in the eye with the stick and fell into the fire!”

He held out one bandaged hand in demonstration. House flinched back at the sight of the burn.

 

“I went out on a little sailboat, to try and get away from everything. I nearly drowned – twice! I was menaced by sharks, I got food poisoning, I hit my head so many times I lost count.”

“Well, at least you had the Fourth of July in there, that must have been fun?”

“The Fourth of July – that was the worst! I'm never going near fireworks ever again!” Wilson fingered the patch on one eye. “Those things are dangerous! ”

House nodded his agreement, he didn't like to tell Wilson about the huge stockpile of fireworks he had picked up at bargain prices after the holiday.

“It's been the summer from hell House. Seven weeks of pure torture. You have no idea. It's like someone out there has it in for me.”

Wilson sank back into the couch cushions and sighed.

“I'm just glad I got away with my life.” He groaned as he tried to stretch out. “Everything just hurts so much House.”

House grinned, this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for.

He reached over and engulfed Wilson in a hug.

Wilson's eyes widened in shock.

“House, what are you doing?”

“You've been hurt, I'm comforting you. Do you have a problem with that?”

Wilson relaxed into his embrace.

“No, that's fine House. Comfort away.”

He smiled against House's shoulder. Maybe summer camp wasn't so bad after all.


	7. On the Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Sick!Wilson [daily picture prompt challenge #1](http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wilson/397330.html)

"Wilson!"

Of course Cuddy had spotted him as he was walking towards the clinic, phone in hand. Sometimes he thought the woman did nothing but lie in wait in the reception area waiting for he or House to walk through so she could pounce on them.

He put his pleasant, mild mannered, oncologist smile on, and turned towards her, trying to hide his hand behind his back.

"Why are you carrying a desk phone around? Did you lose your cell phone?"

He sighed, sometimes he wished he was in fact Gregory House, and could suggest that he was carrying a desk phone around so he could shove it up the nearest suitable orifice. Being James Wilson he just shrugged ruefully and showed her his hand, phone handset firmly attached to it.

"Apparently it's superglue awareness week.  Someone  put glue on their handset and then tricked me into picking it up."

Cuddy gave him a fake sympathetic look, but it was fairly obvious she was trying not to laugh.

"Well, that was very childish of  someone. "

"Can't you find him a case? He's bored and a bored House is a House that goes around putting superglue on people's phones. You don't want to know what part of Taub is glued to the conference room table..."

"You mean...," Cuddy looked in equal parts horrified and intrigued at the thought. "Okay, okay, I'll find him a case." 

Cuddy started to walk away and then turned back.

"Wilson, you're not going to retaliate and turn this into some sort of stupid prank war are you?"

"Of course not, we don't all have the mentality of twelve year olds you know. Some of us have actual work to do."

For some reason she seemed reassured by that and smiled at him. He stopped to admire the view as she walked briskly away. As House always said it was worth getting a telling off from Cuddy just to watch the walk-off.

When the show was over he continued on towards the clinic. He'd better get to the solvent before it was all gone. He imagined that it would take quite a bit of it to separate House from the chair in his office. Such a shame he couldn't even call for help. 

Wilson had the phone.

 

 

 


	8. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Birthmarks fic. Wilson talks to Amber as he hangs up some photos.
> 
> Written for the    [pic prompt challenge #2 (hammer)](http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wilson/398548.html)

Wilson carefully measured the position on the wall. Just the right distance from the other photo frames, nice and square with the wall. Once he was satisfied he made a light pencil mark on the wall and went to pick up the hammer and picture hook.

He positioned the hook and then lightly tapped it in with the hammer, each tap of the hammer sounded hollow in the empty room. Once the hook was in place he went over to pick up the photo frame, handling it carefully. Amber smiled up at him from behind the glass. 

He lightly touched the surface of the frame and smiled back at her.

"Hey Amber, I guess you're wondering what's going on." He turned the photo frame over and gently placed it on the waiting hook. Stepping back he surveyed his work and then carefully tilted it until it was level. "Well, I'm back with House," he said, then rubbed the back of his neck. "That makes it sound like we're an old married couple or something. What I mean is, that I'm going back to Princeton-Plainsboro, and taking my old job back. And...well, I want to be friends with House again."

He went over to the waiting photo frames and picked out the next one he wanted to hang, returned to the wall to measure up.

"I feel like I'm betraying you by saying that. After all, if it wasn't for him, you'd still be...but it really isn't his fault, he couldn't have known what would happen. I really don't think it was his fault. He tried so hard to save you Amber, his heart stopped beating, I had to give him CPR."

Wilson steadied himself on the wall, thinking of those frantic moments in the bus, pounding down on his friend's chest, trying to get his heart started again. And then House had said Amber's name and everything had changed. 

"He risked his life for you Amber, he sat there and let us drill holes in his head. He was crying,  House  was crying. He said he was sorry...House  never  says he's sorry, not for anything." 

Wilson wiped away the tears on his face, tears for House, tears for Amber, tears for himself. He looked at the next photo, one of Amber and himself, arms around each other, happy, in love, taken a week before she died. 

"I need him in my life Amber, I tried to move on, to go on without him but I can't. He's my friend, he drives me crazy at times, but he's worth it. I've lost you Amber, I can't lose him as well."

He gently put the photo down and picked up the hammer, tapping it lightly against the picture hook. Tears blurred his vision and he missed the hook and hit his thumb. He yelped and dropped the hammer to the ground, grabbing hold of his thumb, sucking it in his mouth, soothing it. 

He looked down at his thumbnail, there was a black patch beneath the nail, dried blood trapped there. He'd have that dark spot on his thumbnail until it grew out. 

He'd heal, but some things just take time.


	9. The Twister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House and Wilson spend the day at an amusement park, post infarction but pre-series.  
> 
> 
> Written for the    [pic prompt challenge #5 (Twister - Tornado)](http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wilson/402054.html)

Wilson could barely wait until the roller coaster stopping moving before he launched himself out of the seat, staggered away from the crowd and ducked behind a stand to be sick. There was a buzzing in his ears, his throat was raw and his legs felt like they were going to collapse under him. Of course House followed him there, munching happily on yet another hot dog he must have snagged the moment he got off the ride. Wilson felt a cane prod him. He again cursed the infarction that had given his friend a handy weapon to carry around.

"Wilson, you girl, what are you doing?"

Wilson slowly stood up, the world was spinning and his stomach was still sloshing up and down but he could just about focus on the man in front of him, the very annoying man.

"You said it wasn't too bad, a bit scary but not too bad!" 

"Well, it wasn't. It's not my fault if you have no sense of adventure. This is nothing, you should have been on the one I went to in Japan..."

"House! It went up and then it went around...and down...and upside down...and then..." Wilson gestured each movement with his hands, his arms waving around. "It was like being in some sort of demented washing machine! You said it wasn't too bad!"

"The Giant Twisting Roller Coaster of Death? Yeah it's not like the name didn't give you a clue, Wilson."

"But you said..."

"Oh give it a rest, Wilson  - everybody lies."

"I don't know why I agreed to come," Wilson said. The world was beginning to settle back into place and he thought that, given an hour or two of rest and a nice lie down, he'd begin to feel human again.

He did know why he'd agreed to come. He'd thought that House, newly appointed as PPTH's Head of Diagnostics and with no fellows yet, and no cases, would be keen to help him diagnose a patient with a myriad of weird symptoms. He'd thought wrong - House had agreed to take the case only if Wilson agreed to go with him to the amusement park. It had seemed a strange choice for House who was still a little unsteady on his feet after a long convalescence period following the infarction that had so devastated his life. But House had been depressed and miserable since Stacy left and Wilson had thought that an outing (with Wilson paying for everything of course) would be good for him.

House had perked up a little since they got here, some of the lines of pain smoothing out of his face, he'd even smiled a couple of times as they played the games in Arcade Alley. When House had suggested the roller coaster Wilson had balked at it. He'd let himself be persuaded when he'd seen House glancing several times at his watch and jiggling his little bottle of Vicodin in his pocket. House was on four hourly doses and he always got anxious towards the end of the four hours, the pain beginning to break through. Wilson had hoped the roller coaster ride would be a distraction.

Now House glanced at his watch again and smiled, digging out the bottle and swigging down a pill with a drink of water. Wilson looked away, it hurt to think that his best friend was in so much pain all the time that he needed to take such strong pain killers.

"Right, time for another go before they close the park." House announced, turning back towards the roller coaster. "Come on, Wilson."

"Are you insane ? I'm not going on that thing again. It just about killed me the first time. I can't see why a grown man wants to go on a roller coaster anyway."

House thumped his cane on the ground and scowled at Wilson.

"Down here, I'm just a cripple with a cane, lurching around the place, being scared some idiot kid will run into my cane and knock me over. Up there," he pointed to the rollercoaster tracks high in the air, "up there, it doesn't matter. The arenaline rush knocks out the pain and I can forget about this damn leg for a couple of minutes. That's why I want to go on the rollercoaster again."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. 

"Yeah, yeah, okay. My stomach will never forgive me but I'll go on your damned ride. Just give me a minute."

House nodded and stomped off, Wilson caught a glimpse of him smirking happily as he turned away. Wilson didn't care, let House think he'd sucked Wilson in with that little speech if it made him happy - it wasn't like House had a lot to be happy about these days.

Wilson went into the bathroom and rinsed his mouth out and splashed water on his face. One good thing was that there was nothing left in his stomach to bring up this time. He'd close his eyes, see if that helped. If he couldn't see death staring him in the face maybe it wouldn't be quite so scary.

As they settled down into their seats and were strapped in House glanced at him and this time Wilson could see genuine appreciation in his eyes. 

After the roller coaster had inched its way up an insanely steep section of track and stood poised to hurtle down the other side he  thought he heard House saying, 'thanks, Wilson' but he couldn't be sure - he was screaming too hard.


	10. Four Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small crack fic in honour of the 4th Birthday of  Sick Wilson Anonymous on LJ - inspired by [this post](http://sick-wilson.livejournal.com/407099.html)

Wilson stared at the screen. Four years! He couldn't believe it, what had he ever done to these people to deserve this?

"Four years," he said aloud.

"What are you rabbiting about Wilson?" House wandered in from the kitchen area, a couple of suspicious smudges on his clothes. Wilson had been banned from the kitchen tonight.

"These people," Wilson pointed at the laptop screen, "are celebrating four years of their sick!Wilson community. Four years of torturing me anyway they can think of. Look at the tags! Assault, car accident, fractures, alcoholism, drug addiction, brain damage!" He stabbed at the screen with his finger with each word. "Nothing is beyond these people, nothing is sacred. TB, smallpox!, Cotard's Syndrome, retinal vascular occlusion - I mean who even thinks of that! There's even..." he gulped, "impotence! I am not now and never have been impotent!"

"Of course you haven't been Wilson," House soothed, "if you say so."

"And look, now they're saying how they hope it continues for many years to come, even past the end of the show! I've got plays to do - I can't hang around here being sick for the next ten years!"

House came closer, staring at the screen, seemingly entranced by the picture of Wilson lying comatose in a hospital bed.

"Relax, Wilson. It's nothing personal. There's a sick!House site too, you don't hear me complaining."

"That's because there's not much on yours, I've got easily five times as many stories on my site as you have on yours. And you're an asshole - I'm the nice one! They shouldn't be doing this to me."

"Well they make up for it on the show. I've been shot - twice!, I've had an infarction, two (or is it three) heart attacks, I've broken my own finger, electrocuted myself, overdosed, had a bad blood transfusion reaction, had a skull fracture, a mental breakdown, deep brain stimulation, detoxed three times, had sex with Cuddy...There's not much else they can do to me. You, on the other hand..."

"I donated part of my liver to that jerk Tucker, only last year," Wilson said defensively. "I was sick then."

"Please, you were sick for about seven minutes and a couple of ad breaks, just time for a quick spin in the wheelchair and then you were hopping up on breakfast counters. I've had longer recovery periods from a stubbed toe."

Wilson sat back on the couch, sulking. It wasn't fair. House didn't understand, he was always the one who got to do the comforting. House got to be the good guy looking after his poor sick friend. Wilson just got to suffer, endlessly.

"Cheer up Wilson, it will be summer soon. Time for camp, you liked that so much last year." House offered as he disappeared back into the kitchen.

Wilson shuddered, he still remembered camp from last year, the bears, the crocodiles, the bees, the frostbite and sunstroke. Oh yes, camp should be an absolute blast this year, he couldn't wait.

He looked up as he heard House coming back into the living area. He was carrying a large cake, with five lit candles on top of it.

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you..." House was singing.

"It's not my birthday." Wilson glanced at the screen, remembered his original complaint, "you made me a cake for Sick!Wilson's birthday? The site that likes to torture me endlessly?"

"Yep."

"And you put...five candles on it? The place is only four years old."

"One for next year, I'm sure they'll be going at least that long, there's still heaps of diseases they haven't done. They haven't even done lupus yet!"

Wilson sighed in resignation, eyeing the cake House had put before him. It was a very nice looking cake, chocolate, with more chocolate oozing down the sides. He was getting fatter just looking at it. He snuck a look at the screen - hah - no entry for obesity yet.

House cut him a large piece of cake and Wilson took a bite. Lovely cake, nice and rich and creamy, just how he liked it. Except, the room was spinning, he was breaking out in a sweat and his stomach was gurgling. He stumbled to his feet and rang to the bathroom.

House looked thoughtfully at the Sick!Wilson site - it had to be there somewhere...there it was - food poisoning! Cool!

He picked up the laptop and left a quick post on the site, encouraging the authors to keep writing more sick!Wilson stories, after all this was the only time House was allowed to be a caring human being instead of an insensitive asshole jerk.

He got to his feet and followed Wilson to the bathroom. "Wilson...Wilson! What are you doing? You're going to hurt yourself...oops, too late!" He got there just in time to pick Wilson up off the floor where he'd fallen. He held the dazed man securely in his arms.

"It's okay,Wilson. You're okay. Don't forget, we're only doing it because we love you!"


	11. Stress Fracture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for camp sick!wilson  [Child's Play Challenge](http://sick-wilson.livejournal.com/423181.html). It isn't the first time Wilson's wrist has been broken...

He's playing with Danny when it happens. Danny doesn't have a lot of friends so Jimmy often throws the ball around with him. Danny is younger and smaller, but he is quick on his feet and he always plays to win. Most of the time it's fun but sometimes Jimmy will see a certain look in his eye, a hard look, a cold look, and then he has to watch out.

Danny has thrown the ball long and Jimmy is bringing it back, ball tucked under one arm, eyes on Danny and aiming to get past him to score a touchdown. He feints one way, turns to go another and nearly slips past him but his foot catches in the muddy ground and twists and then he sees that look in Danny's eye.

He hits the ground hard, Danny's full weight is behind the hit. As he goes down his hand strikes the ground awkwardly and bends back, he hears something snap a second before he feels the sudden sharp pain.

When he comes back from the emergency room he has a bright blue cast on his right wrist. Mom and Dad make a fuss over him and he gets out of doing his chores for the six weeks it takes the bone to heal. Danny apologises of course, and Jimmy knows it really had been an accident so he says it is okay, but he always keeps an eye out for that look in Danny's eye.

     *******************************************************************************************

He gets out of the car, confused and uncertain. He doesn't want to get out, but he remembers the way House had smashed the glass in his office poster, and the anger and frustration that had been written in every line of his tense stance. House is about to boil over and Wilson isn't sure he wants to be in the way.

He watches as the car roars off down the street, then turns at the head of the road and starts back. He's not sure what House is doing, the car is veering off the road and headed straight for him. At the last moment he realises that House is not going to stop and he dives to one side, out of the way. His hand strikes the ground awkwardly and his weak right wrist gives way. The snap of the bone is an echo from the past.

As he cradles his wrist, he stares at the wreckage in front of him, at the devastation House has made of both their lives. House emerges, unscathed, and unrepentant and walks over to him. As Wilson stares into those cold blue eyes he sees Danny looking back at him.

When House walks away, Wilson knows his brother is lost.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four linked ficlets, Wilson is involved in a terrible accident, this is the aftermath. Set during the beginning of the sixth season although diverging from canon.

House waited until the trail of visitors had gone. While they had all clucked and fussed over Wilson he had lurked in his office. Now when the corridors were quiet and the lights were dim he ventured out and stood at the door of Wilson's room.

He stared at the man in the bed. In all the years he had known Wilson the man had rarely been as much as sick. Never had he been injured, never had he spent time in a hospital bed as a patient. It had always been House. Wilson had always been the one to visit, to sit by the bedside and provide food, entertainment and comfort.

Wilson was pale, his sleep unsettled, his breathing rough. Although the monitors reported that he was in no danger House felt a tightening in his chest as he regarded his injured friend. He thought about how easily Wilson could have died today, he thought about what his own life would be without Wilson in it. He had lost him once, he never wanted to lose him again.

Slowly he approached the bed. His eyes flicked over the tubes, over the IV, over the dressings on Wilson's body. Hesitantly he reached out and slipped the blanket down slightly, exposing more of his friend's body. He took in the bruises, the lacerations, the cast on one leg. Wilson was damned lucky to be alive.

As he reached out one hand to a livid bruise on Wilson's cheek Wilson's eyes snapped open. He drew his hand back quickly, pretended he was checking the monitors. Wilson's eyes followed him, his dry lips open as if to say something but his breath and strength failing him.

There was pain in those eyes, a pain that House often saw reflected in the mirror but never wanted to see in Wilson. He reached out and adjusted the flow on the drip, sending some more painkillers into the battered body. Wilson blinked and then his lips cracked into something resembling a smile and his hand moved towards House, inching along the sheet. House let his fingers drop lightly onto Wilson's and met his gaze. Wilson's eyes slipped shut.

House slowly let go off Wilson's fingers and sank back into the chair by the bed. It was stupid to stay, Wilson was sleeping and wouldn't know whether he was here or not. He should go back to his office, or back home. He didn't have to stay close to show he cared. It was stupid to stay.

He stayed anyway.

 

**Terror**

He doesn't remember much while he's awake. He keeps himself busy thinking of other things, refuses to let his mind go there. While he sleeps he has no such defense.

People yelling, running. Screams. Falling chunks of metal and concrete, pain as it hits his body. Falling to the ground, choking in the clouds of dust. People running over him, desperate to escape. Hands clutching at him and then being torn away. Waking to darkness, to a quiet only punctuated by his own moans of pain and harsh breathing. Feeling his blood trickling away. Pressure on his body. Buried alive. Voices calling out for help, help that takes a long time coming. Falling in and out of consciousness. Knowing he will die, that this is it. He had always expected to feel relieved when he knew death was on its way. Instead he just feels despair and terror. Hopes for rescue that he is not sure will ever come. Giving in to panic and screaming, screaming out for help....

He wakes in the hospital bed, heart pounding and monitors screeching their alarm. A hand silences them and limping footsteps make their way to his bedside. Blue eyes stare down at him.

"Just a dream Jimmy. Go back to sleep."

He stares back and nods. Just a dream. Rescue had come, he will live, he is safe now. The darkness has gone and House is here.

 

**Laughter**

When Wilson didn't turn up for his trauma conselling session the counsellor went looking for her reluctant patient. She found him in the patient's lounge. He'd transferred from the wheelchair to the couch and was watching some silly children's cartoon on the television. Sitting next to him was his partner-in-crime Doctor House. House wouldn't go near Wilson's physical therapy sessions but had taken a liking to the lounge, its big screen television and video game machines. He could be found lurking around at all hours.

The floor around the men, and the table, was littered with junk food wrappers, what looked suspiciously like 'mens' magazines and various other debris. She was about to enter and reprimand Wilson and drag him off to his session when she paused as she heard Wilson break into laughter at something on the television. She recalled the pale and broken man who had wheeled himself to her office last week, his quiet muttered responses, the strain in his face. She smiled as he laughed again, this time House joining in. Some healing could take place outside of formal counselling sessions. Wilson seemed to be getting what he needed right here.

Quietly she backed away and left them alone.

 

**Home**

Wilson paused at the door to his apartment, awkwardly balancing himself on his cane. This was his first time home since the accident and the long weeks in the hospital and rehab. House was supposed to have been with him but had been called away on a case. He'd actually offered to break away and take Wilson home but Wilson had waved him off.

He finally managed to fumble his key out and let himself in, apprehensive about what he would find. House had been living here alone for eight weeks now, alone in the apartment that had been Amber's and Wilson's. Wilson expected to find it completely rearranged, all of Amber's things gone, to find chaos where there had been order, empty spaces where there had been ghosts.

Nothing had changed. The place was immaculate, clean and fresh. Not a trace of House in the living areas, just Amber & Wilson. When he glanced into their old bedroom, House's room now, her pictures were still displayed, her diplomas on the wall. His bed was neatly made. Wilson sat down and stared around. For the first time he thought what it must be like for House to lie in here and see this.

Wilson thought of the last few weeks, with House being there for him. Most of his colleagues had come in, smiled, exchanged a few nervous words and moved on quickly. House had stayed. He'd been there for the nights of pain, for the anger and depression. Never saying much, not needing to say much. Just someone who understood. Someone who cared.

Wilson levered himself to his feet and left the room. He would always remember Amber, would always love her but it was time to move on. His world had changed, his future was different now.

Slowly he limped to his bedroom, the trip home had taken more out of him than he thought possible. A quick nap and then House would be home.

He laid down with a sigh and glanced towards the bedstand. Abandoned there were a pair of reading glasses and a bottle of House's anti-depressants. A neon sign screaming out to him - House was Here. Had been sleeping in his bed. He smiled and tucked himself around the pillow.

It was good to be home.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the evening of Halloween Wilson is in hospital for overnight observation, he can't sleep so House tells him a bedtime story. Written for the sick_wilson Halloween challenge

"It was a dark and stormy night..." 

"Seriously? You're going to start like that?"

"Hey, it's a Halloween story, it's always dark and stormy in Halloween stories, rule of nature. Now shut up if you want the story, you're so whiny when you're sick." House couldn't believe Wilson had talked him into this. Wilson was stuck in hospital for the night so they could monitor his concussion and he was restless and agitated, unable to sleep. 

One of the nurses (of the legions who found it necessary to check on the poor injured Doctor Wilson) had suggested that House read him a bedtime story. Wilson, the bastard, had agreed that would be a very nice thing for House to do, seeing as the last time Wilson was in hospital House was to blame. House didn't see the connection himself but Wilson had made those stupid puppy dog eyes at him and well....

"I'm not _sick_ , I'm _injured_."

"Yeah, yeah, same difference."

"I don't have a sore throat, I was attacked in the clinic by a patient. It's _not_ the same thing." Wilson was actually pouting, like being 'attacked' in the clinic was some point of distinction or something. You'd think it was the first time one of his patients had taken a swing at him, the way he carried on.

"Please. Some little old lady jabbed you with her cane, if you hadn't fallen backwards and managed to knock yourself out on that cabinet you wouldn't even be here taking up a hospital bed. Try being shot some day if you want a _real_ injury."

"Yes, your injuries are much more dramatic, I know. Well, I'm the one in the hospital bed this time so can you get on with the story?"

House rolled his eyes, it was Wilson who'd interrupted after all, but continued. "It was a dark and stormy night," he paused and looked at Wilson with narrowed eyes but Wilson just waved his hand theatrically in a 'go on' gesture. "and there was a werewolf prowling around the streets, a very hot werewolf with stunning blue eyes..."

"A _werewolf_ ? A _hot_ werewolf? With blue eyes? Pretty sure there's no such things as werewolves, let alone with blue eyes. This isn't a very realistic story, House."

"It's a Halloween story you idiot, it's not supposed to be realistic Look, do you want to tell the story? I could be down at the Halloween party you know. I was going to go as a prisoner this year. You could have been the guard." 

"I'm sorry my injury inconveniences you, please continue with the story, I'll shut up." Wilson did some sort of elaborate pantomime of zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key and House couldn't help smiling. He didn't want to go to the stupid Halloween party anyway.

"Okay, where were we...."

"The very hot werewolf with stunning blue eyes was roaming the streets, presumably trying to avoid getting shot on sight if he was in Princeton."

"Despite being incredibly hot, and very talented, the werewolf was very unhappy. He'd been dumped by his lady werewolf and was pretty screwed up.. He'd been drinking too much werewolf juice, and doing some stupid things."

"Hmmm, would these stupid things include jumping off a sixth floor balcony into a swimming pool and cutting his own leg open?"

"I don't think werewolves like water. Who's telling the story, you or me?"

"By all means continue, great story so far." Wilson laid back on his pillows with a smile.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that part," House muttered. He settled himself more comfortably in the chair by Wilson's bed, took a deep breath and continued. "So, anyway, the werewolf did something really really stupid. At the time it felt great, he showed the lady werewolf just what he thought of her by smashing her house, er...den to pieces. It seemed to solve all his problems, he didn't even stop to think how much he'd hurt his best friend, the vampire, who got in the way while he was doing it."

"The werewolf's best friend is a vampire?" Wilson asked, his eyes going wide. "Does he sparkle?"

"No, he's a proper vampire, he doesn't sparkle, or glow, and if he goes out in the sun he burns to a crisp. Also, _if he keeps interrupting_ the werewolf's story something bad might happen to him." He eyed Wilson but Wilson just smiled back and waved his hand to continue the story. House wondered if he wasn't going to get sleepy soon, he was in a hospital bed for a reason after all.

"Anyway," House continued, "the werewolf thought he'd done a great thing for himself, and ran off. He ran a long way away, and just went and sat in a forest for a while, away from all of his pack, and his hunting ground. It was like the world had stopped. Then one day, he woke up and realised what he'd done to his vampire best friend and the lady werewolf."

"So he contacted the vampire like a responsible adult and explained everything?"

"Well, he probably would have if he was a really boring werewolf like Foreman, but no, the werewolf came home and went to prison because he thought he should be punished for what he did."

"Do werewolves have prisons?"

"Yes, and they fill them with really annoying vampires who won't shut up!"

"Okay, okay, werewolf in prison to punish himself for being a total idiot. Got it. Then I guess the true genius of the werewolf was recognised and he was released from prison to walk amongst us again."

"Of course, the mere mortals couldn't manage without him."

"And did the werewolf learn anything from this terrible experience?"

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you? If the werewolf had learnt an Important Life Lesson from what happened and came back a changed werewolf." House fiddled with his cane and looked at Wilson. "The werewolf learned that his best friend was even more of an idiot than he thought because he was willing to take him back, despite what he'd done. The werewolf decided to try really hard not to hurt the vampire again, and to stay away from lady werewolves."

Wilson smiled at him with that 'pleased with House' smile he very rarely adopted, despite himself House found himself smiling back. "That's good, House. I'm glad the werewolf learned that. I think the vampire must have really missed the werewolf while he was in prison." Wilson yawned, "I think I can get some sleep now. Thanks for the story, House."

As he watched Wilson's eyes were drifting closed, he seemed much more relaxed and was finally going to sleep.

House waited until Wilson's breathing had evened out and his body was relaxed. He checked the monitors, Wilson was fine, the head wound was minor, he'd be out of the hospital tomorrow. He thought about going downstairs for the rest of the Halloween party but took another look at Wilson and decided against it, he'd stay and keep an eye on the idiot for a little while longer. After all, even vampires needed someone to look out for them every now and then.

* * *

Chase made his way up to the room where Doctor Wilson had been admitted for overnight observation. He figured that if Wilson was there House wouldn't be far away. House was missing the party, and it wasn't like he could go out to any other ones. It would do him good to go and have some fun.

He entered the private room and stopped dead. There was a large dog, or maybe a wolf, lying across the bottom of Wilson's bed. The dog was asleep but looked up as he entered, and Chase found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes. 

Chase looked at the dog, the dog looked back at him, mouth wide open in what for all the world looked like a grin. Chase shook his head and glanced at Wilson, looking for some sanity there. The doctor was asleep, but Chase thought he saw something...

Chase crept closer, a wary eye on the dog and peered at Wilson. Yes, just there, two fangs protruding from Wilson's mouth. The dog thumped his tail and Chase could swear he was laughing at him.

Chase slowly backed away and then turned and dashed out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he was in the clear. Damn, but this was the one day of the year he wished he was back in Australia.

"I hate fucking Halloween."


	14. House Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson's been surfing the 'net again, and House has been watching the promos, a crack/meta fic.
> 
> Set after Body & Soul and based on the promo for The C-Word.

House let himself into his apartment to find Wilson sitting on the couch, frowning at his laptop. House approached him cautiously, Wilson had been in a foul mood ever since the diagnosis.

"It's their fault, you know." Wilson was pointing at the screen. "These people and their obsession with sick!Wilson."

"Your paranoia is showing, Wilson. I hardly think that the Powers to Be are surfing the 'net looking for their next great idea."

Wilson laughed. "Oh you think they don't? What about the long lost child thing? Where do you think they got _that_ idea from?"

House had to concede that he had a point there.

"Well, they don't seem to be very happy about it anyway," House said, sitting down beside Wilson and quickly reading the screen. "There are lots of complaints here."

"Oh, they're only complaining because they think I might _die_. They love me so much that they don't want me to die. They're apparently okay with me suffering for a while, because then you can comfort me, and if I'm really lucky you can nurse me back to health."

"Well, there are certain advantages to you being sick... " House said before he could censor himself. Wilson stared at him, with his most frozen look of disapproval .

"Such as... " he said coldly.

"Well, you're dressing much less formally these days," House gestured at Wilson's tee shirt and his bare forearms. Especially his bare forearms.

"You think it's okay that I'm sick because you get to see me in a tee shirt?"

Well, when he put it that way it did sound a little bit selfish, House had to concede.

"Look, it's going to be fine. You're not going to die. You have a stage II thymoma, no big deal."

Wilson brightened a little. "Yes, I guess you're right. I haven't lost a thymoma patient yet. Surgery is the usual treatment. We can get Chase to do it - he's the best surgeon in the hospital after all."

House eyed him guiltily, wondering whether to say anything or not. Deciding against it he stood back up and moved towards the door. Hopefully Wilson would be too preoccupied with the computer to notice what House was doing.

"What have you got there?" Wilson shrieked at him. Damn, so much for that plan. House paused in the act of wheeling in the heart monitor. Wilson was staring at the IV stand, and the portable oxygen set-up. "What on Earth is all this for?"

"Oh, just," House waved his hand vaguely at it, "just some experimental, radical treatment for your early stage cancer, which has as much chance of killing you as the cancer does. Nothing important."

"And it's here because...."

"Well, you know, you hate hospitals."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. So we're going to do it here."

Wilson looked around the small apartment, noting that the floor wasn't the cleanest and everything could do with a good dust.

"Here?"

"Yes, on the couch." House set up the IV stand suggestively near Wilson.

"On the couch? Don't you have a bed?"

"Apparently not. I don't know why you're complaining, I had to do mine in the bathtub."

"Yes, and look how well that turned out!"

"Well, I didn't die," House pointed out, "and neither will you. Now lie down."

"I'm not going through with this. You're the insane risk taker, not me, I'm the sensible one of the couple."

"Couple?" House cocked his head, looking at Wilson appraisingly.

Wilson blushed. "Not in a romantic sense you understand. When I say couple, I just mean two people. Two people who are really close friends, not..."

"Sure you do." House fiddled with the oxygen mask. "Look, you need to do this. It's in the script." He knew it was, he'd bribed the writer with a small fortune to put it in there.

Wilson waved his arms around for a while and then gave up, shaking his head as he sunk down onto the couch and House began to hook him up to the equipment.

"Now, don't worry, this won't hurt much," House said as he inserted the canula and set the infusion going.

"It won't hurt _much_?"

"Well, you might have trouble breathing, and get tachycardic, and you'll probably cough up blood because that's popular this year, but don't worry." House stared straight into Wilson's fearful eyes. "Whatever happens, I'll be here for you."

"And I won't die?" Wilson asked, staring back at his friend.

"No, you won't die," House said reassuringly. Then he paused for a moment, a thoughtful look coming over his face. "But if you do, can I have the Taurus?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the 'Housewarming' challenge on Dreamwidth which can be found at http://sick-wilson.dreamwidth.org/731295.html

 Wilson opened his eyes slowly and watched a blurry world come into focus. His office. He was lying on the couch in his office. He rolled his head to one side, wincing at the stab of pain that came with the motion. House was sitting there. Of course. Eating an enormous slice of cake.   
  
"This cake tastes like crap. Oncology department parties suck."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
House peered at the cake. "Didn't cream the butter and sugar together properly is my guess."  
  
Wilson would have rolled his eyes if he knew it wouldn't hurt too much.  
  
"What happened to me? All I remember is singing happy birthday to Joanne and then nothing."  
  
"That new intern who makes eyes at you in the cafeteria got too close and stumbled into you. You fell against the counter and managed to knock yourself out. Cameron wanted to take you down to the ER and have her way with you but I got them to bring you here instead.  
  
"Oh. Thanks, I guess." Wilson struggled to an upright position while House watched and kept eating the crappy cake. He held a hand to his aching head and accepted the lone Vicodin that House grudgingly offered. "You can go now."  
  
House shook his head. "It's clinic duty or this. Even with bad cake this is better."  
  
"Glad I could help you avoid doing your job." He gingerly felt the back of his head. Yes, there was a lump there. He had the worst luck at parties. "What were you doing there anyway? I don't remember seeing you."  
  
"Came for the cake of course. And to make sure little miss doe-eyes kept her distance. Which she didn't."  
  
Wilson looked at House properly for the first time. Yes, there was the little drop of the eyes and look away. House was feeling guilty about something.  
  
"This bit where Doctor Navina 'accidentally' stumbled. You wouldn't have had anything to do with that?"  
  
"Some people are just naturally clumsy when they see a cane."  
  
"House..." Wilson shook his head and immediately regretted it.   
  
"Here. Let me check." House was there, shining a damned penlight into his eyes.   
  
"I'm okay, House. Just a headache." He touched House's hand briefly in reassurance.   
  
House sat down next to him and Wilson leaned into him, closing his eyes.   
  
"I told everyone to stay away from your office. We have all afternoon."  
  
Wilson smiled at the half-hopeful, half-apologetic tone. "Not today,dear. I have a concussion."  
  
He drifted back off to sleep, knowing that House would be there when he woke up.


End file.
